Of Opportunities Missed
by allibabab
Summary: She’d just gotten her eye on a big tawny owl, its face hidden beneath its wing feathers as it slept, when she heard the familiar crunch, crunch, crunch of footsteps in the Owlery. [RonHermione]


Disclaimer: I own nothing but my words.

Hermione grimaced as she heard the bird droppings crunch beneath her feet, grounding into the old wooden floor. As nice as it was to come up to the Owlery when the weather was nice and the sun shown in through the multitude of windows, the owl waste always managed to ruin the mood just a bit. She paused as if that would stop the crunching noise for longer than when she wasn't moving her feet, and then sighed and gave up, moving along once more.

She eyed the perches above her in search of a strong-looking owl, healthy enough to carry a rather large Christmas package to her parents for the holiday. Hermione wasn't going home for Christmas this year, and rather was remaining at school with Harry and Ron like usual. She wondered mildly what gifts the boys had thought to get her this year, and wondered if they would like hers. She'd gotten Harry a book on the many different ways a Seeker in the game of Quidditch could get themselves killed (always helpful to know how much danger he was in, at least!). Or, really, it was just a book on different moves and dives a Seeker could perform, but she preferred to think of it as a teacher of dangerous mechanisms that were bound to one day get Harry seriously hurt.

For Ron she had purchased something a little... well, a little less ordinary. It was something she hadn't ever thought of getting him before, and now that she had bought it, she wasn't entirely sure that she really wanted to give it to him. What if he didn't like it? What if he _laughed_ at her like she was some small child that needed humoring? And, most importantly, why was she so much more worried about what Ron thought about his present than what Harry thought about his?

Well, for one, she reasoned with herself, it's not exactly the 'same old, same old' kind of present that I usually get for him. And it was rather expensive, which Harry's was not, and so I really need for him to like it because _I_ certainly don't want to be the one taking it back to the shop! Oh, well. I'm sure it will be fine. He'll like it well enough.

She'd gotten him a jumper. She cringed at the thought once more, forgetting how wonderful the actual jumper was. That was what his _mother_ gave him every year! He had to have millions of them, all maroon, stacked up in piles in his wardrobe, hardly worn. He hated those maroon jumpers and only wore them probably once, when his mother was around and begged for him to put it on for her.

Hermione rolled her eyes at herself and at him. At least I've got that point covered, she thought. At least it's not maroon.

The shop was having a great sale on jumpers and Hermione had been tempted to go in there and see if she could find anything extra for Christmas for her father, though she had already bought him a leather bound book on the history of dentistry that she believed he would enjoy very much. Actually, it was more of a joint gift to her mother and her father, but she addressed it to her father since her mother was going to get something else that Hermione hadn't purchased (or found) yet. She was searching through the racks, trying to find her father's size, and had almost passed by a lovely, dark green jumper that was buried behind all the other jumpers that were on sale. She pulled it slowly off the rack, fingering the collar to find the tag on the inside so that she could see the price and the size. Her first thought was that it was unfortunate that it wasn't her father's size, but as she thought about it, she realized that it would probably fit another man in her life quite well. The green most certainly suited him, at least. She stood near the rack for a rather long time, wondering and deciding whether it was at all right for her to buy it for him for Christmas. She convinced herself finally, drawn in by the softness of the material and the allure of the dark color, and purchased it. When she got back, she immediately stashed it in her trunk (after wrapping it, of course, in case she forgot to and then _never_ did). Why did such a simple Christmas gift make her so nervous? She wished she could say she never thought about it again, or at least until the time came for her to give it to him.

Well, as it would happen, the time had almost come for her to give it to him. Christmas was nearing and people were beginning to exchange gifts since most of them were heading home for the holidays, and it seemed the pressure was on for Hermione to start giving out her gifts. She had protested at first, when Ron had started pestering her about what she had gotten him.

"Why do we have to wait until Christmas day?" he had asked.

"Because that's the proper day to give gifts, Ron," she said.

"So?"

"So that's the day we're going to exchange."

"I'll bet you just don't have anything for Harry or me," he said, eyeing her as if he knew he was irritating her and didn't really care. As if, in fact, he was trying to do just that.

She sighed and set her pen down on her homework. "Look, I know you don't want to work on your homework and you're hoping that I'll stop doing mine so that you can argue with me now and then copy me later, but I really, _really_ need to get this essay done for Snape. Please, Ron?"

Ron looked abashed. "I was just trying to talk to you, Hermione," he said, his eyes darkening.

"I know," she said, sighing again. "I'm just very stressed out right now. N.E.W.T.s are coming up soon, and I'd really like to study for them, but I can't at this point because the professors are laying all this homework on us. I just need to get this work done, and soon, so that I still have time to study."

Ron leveled his gaze on her and then stood up abruptly, pushing his chair back with his legs. "I can take a hint, Hermione. I'll be in the Common Room." He left the library quickly, not giving her a chance to respond and leaving Hermione feeling rather surprised and ashamed. She hadn't meant for him to _leave_, just be quiet and work on his essay. Though she felt in the pit of her stomach that she should follow him and apologize for making him believe she didn't want him to be there, she also felt in her mind that he was just being oversensitive, and... well, she really _did_ have to finish the essay.

This small scrap had blown over as they usually did between Ron and Hermione, since they were so used to them; it had practically become routine for them to systematically forget the mean, petty things they said to each other on a day to day basis. Most of the time, both of them knew that what they said mainly didn't go along with what they really thought of each other. Though, it was true, sometimes Ron _did_ think Hermione was a brainy know-it-all, and sometimes Hermione really _did_ think that Ron was rather touchy about anything and everything.

After several days, Ron began to ask her about exchanging gifts again. He begged for awhile while she, once again, attempted to do the overload of homework she had been given, but after quite a long time, Ron had given up asking, knowing she wouldn't back down. Christmas day was the day, she had said, and that was final.

And now here she was, only a week before Christmas, sending out gifts. Hermione wondered if Ron would begin pestering her about his present again, and sincerely hoped he did not.

Suddenly, an owl swooped in through the window nearest Hermione and let out a loud hoot, making her shriek shrilly and jump back a few feet, breaking out of her reverie. She checked her wristwatch, and, seeing the time, hastily began looking for an owl again. Her next class started in fifteen minutes, and it was all the way across the school. If she took much longer she'd have to run all the way there. She'd just gotten her eye on a big tawny owl, its face hidden beneath its wing feathers as it slept, when she heard the familiar _crunch, crunch, crunch _of footsteps in the Owlery. She spun around quickly and gasped to find Ron standing behind her, slightly too close for comfort. Realizing he had been caught, he stepped back a few steps. Neither person comprehended what had just happened -- Ron had been _watching_ Hermione and hadn't even realized it, and Hermione had unconsciously swayed toward him when she noticed his close proximity, acting on impulse and not on rational thought.

Space is good, she thought, not knowing why her pulse was fluttering in her ribcage. Space is very good.

Perhaps Hermione had comprehended it, after all.

"Hullo," he said, eyeing her package. "What're you doing up here?"

"Sending a package," she said matter-of-factly. "What about you?"

"Looking for you. You know our lesson starts in five minutes, don't you?"

"What?" she said, her eyes widening. "Since when? I thought it started at 11:35! We're going to be late! Oh, bollocks, I can't take this back to the dorm without being late, and I don't even have my notebooks or anything!" she cried, despairing. "How am I supposed to take notes?"

Ron grinned rather lopsidedly and produced, from behind his back, all of her supplies that she needed for the class. "I figured you'd mess yourself when you heard, so I brought your stuff for you. Can't do anything for the package, though, so I guess you'll just have to bring it with you to the lesson. I'm sure Professor Binns will let you just set it in the back of the classroom. You definitely don't want to leave it here, though. Someone could easily just take off with it."

"Oh Ron!" she said, happily clapping her hands. "You're wonderful! Gosh, let's head to class right now. At least we won't be horribly late -- maybe we'll even be able to slip in unnoticed by Professor Binns. It was good of you to bring this to me and make yourself late--" Hermione paused and then frowned. "Why did you do that?"

He shrugged. "Figured you'd skin me alive if I just left you here to miss the beginning of the lesson."

"Well, for whatever reason, I appreciate it," she said, smiling genuinely.

"Don't mention it," Ron said, the tips of his ears turning bright red. "It's no big deal."

"I appreciate it all the same," Hermione said, and, taking a step forward, planted one hand on his right shoulder and stood on her tiptoes to place a chaste kiss on his cheek. In reaction, Ron's left arm came up around her lower back, not touching, only hovering, and immediately, Hermione felt the heat emanating off it. Her posture stiffened as she realized their position, and Ron froze, his encircling arm not moving. Hermione could feel the material of his shirt move against the skin of his shoulder beneath her fingers. Ron felt an unfamiliar pounding in his heart and he wondered if that thumping he could hear was her heart or his. Blood roared through his veins: he could feel her every move, her every breath, the slight up and down of her chest as she breathed, the warm air touching the tiny fibers of hair on his cheek, electrifying his senses. Their bodies were close, her lips were on his skin, and if he turned his head a fraction of an inch, just the slightest movement, the smallest adjustment, their lips would be touching, and maybe moving, and they would be kissing.

Kissing!

The thought shot into Ron's head faster than an arrow. He cleared his throat awkwardly and dropped his arm from where it hovered in a half circle around Hermione's waist.

"Er... Hermione? We're going to be late," he said lamely, and took a step back from her, feeling a cold rush of air upon his skin where just a moment again she had been pressed, warm against him.

Her eyes were wide with the idea of what they could have just done, the step they could have just taken, the boundary they could have just crossed. She licked her lips nervously. "Yes," she said thickly. "Yes, you're right. Let's go." She felt her stomach doing flip-flops inside, and as he stepped aside near the doorway for her to leave the Owlery first, she felt the blood begin to rush into her cheeks.

She was embarrassed to admit that her thoughts were such as they were as they headed side-by-side to class, since they could never be reciprocated: Damn, she sighed. Another missed opportunity.


End file.
